


A little Paradise Lost (or found)

by Luthien11



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Books, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Lord of the Rings references, M/M, Slow Build, brock is a mean ex, bucky has a motorbike, dean winchester cameo, everyone is a little ooc, natasha has a bookstore, not even sorry, snow as a plot device, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien11/pseuds/Luthien11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is a little awkward and works at a bookstore. Everything is relatively painless until he drops a buch of books in front of some guy, Steve. Angst ensues. This is basically a rom com (just without much com).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little Paradise Lost (or found)

Bucky loved to read.

It used to be a secret. Something that made him seem weak to his four brothers who, growing up, saw anything other than an urge to break things as a sure sign of floundering masculinity-so he hid it; reading under quilted sheets by torch light whilst the others slept.

At home it was a weakness, yet his profound literary knowledge was treated with respect at college-a change so startling for Bucky that he fell in love with literature as a result. His eyes that seemed to glare by default learnt to scare off curious onlookers who would question such a man for reading Pride and Prejudice or Paradise Lost.

Upon graduating he was flung into a colder world where every job seemed to distance him from the books he loved- until he found Natasha.

“You just gonna stand there?” she yelled from inside the book store after noticing Bucky’s shadowed form lingering in the window for a longer than reasonable stretch of time.

Despite his strong form and grouchy expression, Bucky was a quiet man, generally reluctant to pursue conversation. Perhaps this stemmed from growing up surrounded by louder, older voices-you learnt to hold your tongue.

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll just be going...” Bucky mumbled as he started to back away from the shop window. It was the first time he’d returned to his hometown since finishing college and he wasn’t quite ready for honest human interaction just yet. He needed time. Space. Just so he could get his head sorted out before his guilty conscience coerced him into visiting his family. He didn’t need some yelling red-head to shatter his delicate balance.

“If you want a book you have to actually come in the store!” the woman yelled in response as she kicked her feet up onto the counter. So he did. Perhaps it was the woman’s black Doc Martins and fiery hair that startled him out of his cowardly trance.

Turns out he’d stumbled across the last independent book store in the area: Romanov Booksellers. Natasha (call me Nat) Romanoff promptly explained to Bucky that it had been in her family for generations, and now she was simply “waiting for it to die”.

Something about the steel sign outside that stood proudly amongst the taller chain stores on the high street captured Bucky’s imagination. Inside it felt like home, not a store. Strong armchairs added softness to any available corner whilst shelf after shelf towered high with ever book that he could imagine. It was captivating-so he kept coming back. Eventually Nat became so fed up with seeing his moping face outside that she gave him a job.

Bucky needed the money, and the excuse of ‘I’m busy working’ to avoid his family. The shop was quiet enough for Bucky’s minimal customer service skills to be mute and Nat seemed to have warmed to his lovable, brooding persona. It was a perfect situation. Perfect until winter came.

*

His town was far enough north to be one of the first to receive the heavy snowfalls of winter, something which, years ago, motivated the local townspeople to spark the tradition of the annual Winter Festival, as soon as the first flakes fell. Good news for business, not so much for Bucky’s resentment towards people.

“Why did you bother hiring me Nat?” Bucky grumbled as yet another customer left the store after dodging his attempts at customer service. “I’m not exactly likeable.”

“Well I like you, and I couldn’t bear to see you moping outside in the cold for another day, looking like I’d just killed your puppy with you big miserable eyes. Now go and help Mr Coulson look for his glasses- he’s probably left them in the self-help section again.”

“I don’t mope! I was simply waiting for a good moment to come in and seek employment.”

“Sure. I completely believe you. Now take these,” she said handing him a stack of holiday romance novels for shelving, “And for God’s sake help that man find his glasses before he knocks something over!”

With an over dramatic eye role Bucky made his way over to the fiction section, pointing out Mr Coulson’s glasses to him under an occupied armchair on his way.

“Moping”, Bucky muttered to himself, as he efficiently  stacked the pile of books he was carrying. “I don’t mope! And besides she should be glad. I’m an excellent member of staff with my almost superhuman abilities to organise shelves by colour.”

“I’m sure you are.”

The evidently masculine voice snapped Bucky out of his drama queen moment so suddenly that the half stacked novels he were carrying tipped out of his arms and scattered mercilessly around him. Feeling his face burning, Bucky hastily picked up the scattered books, eyes glued to the floor.

“Oh my God!  I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you jump, here let me help you...” The man gushed, clearly almost as embarrassed as Bucky as he tried to hand him a book that had fallen just out of his reach.

“It’s fine.” Bucky snapped as he snatched the book form the man’s outstretched hands and tried not to blush so heavily.

“Really, I am sorry.”

It was only then that Bucky glanced up, and immediately glanced back down again after catching a glimpse of an impressively handsome man. He’d expected some bumbling tourist from out of town, complete with a Winter Festival hat and shopping bags-not some guy who looked like a he’d stepped out of a modelling catalogue. As Bucky slowly stood, his newly shuffled book stack clutched securely in his arms, the man rose with him.

“Hi, I’m Steve by the way. Steve Rogers.” He announced, in an all too cheerful manor for someone who’d abruptly ruined Bucky’s life.

“Bucky.”

“Yes, well. Sorry again, Bucky!” the man spouted, before turning and walking away. Bucky breathed a sigh a relief. A man like that didn’t belong in such a miserable, dead end town. And frankly Bucky found his presence disgruntling.

“Whoops! Forgot my gloves!” Bucky’s silent reflections were once again shattered as the man grabbed a pair of navy blue gloves off a nearby shelf. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, Bucky’ dazzled brain noted, as the man once again brushed past him.

“Hey, can I get this book too?” Steve asked, picking up what Bucky assumed to be a more popular holiday romance novel off the top of his newly arranged stack of books.

“Sure.” Bucky hesitated. “Not very seasonal though-what with the snow and everything.” He said, gesturing out the window.

“Well, classics like this can be read all year round.”

Bucky just nodded, watching dumbstruck, as this tall and smiling man turned and purchased the coral coloured novel and didn’t seem to notice just how out of place he looked.

Bucky wandered back to the till a few minutes later. “What was that about?” Nat grinned.

“Nothing.” Bucky mumbled as his eyes followed the man down the street, through the snow, until his navy duffel could no longer be distinguished from the other shoppers. “It was nothing.”

*

Unfortunately for Bucky, the incident didn’t remain in the store. As the snow fell down in patches that night, Bucky turned the key of his apartment door to find Sam Wilson grinning on their couch. Now Bucky loved Sam. He’d been his rock though high school and he couldn’t be happier to find he’d returned to their home town to set up his counselling centre after college. The resulting flat share was inevitable and generally his reassuring presence was welcome.

 Bucky may have forgotten all this for a fleeting moment as Sam continued to laugh.

“What? What is it?” Bucky grumbled, as he tried to grab Sam’s phone which was clearly the source of the hilarity.

“Nat was just recounting your interaction failure in front of some hot guy,” he paused to wipe away a tear, “and damn, you  don’t do anything half way do you?,” he laughed as Bucky tried to wrestle the phone from Sam’s grasp and failed, ending up flat on the floor.

He stared blankly at the ceiling. Then it hit him. “Wait, you know Nat?”

“More like Nat knows me. She knows everything that goes on around here. Thought you’d have grasped that by now.”

Bucky didn’t really understand what he meant by that but was a little too done to question it at this point.

“Well I’m glad my suffering has made you happy.” Bucky mumbled as he made his way into his bedroom and shut the door.

“Hey Buck,” Sam shouted through the door, “You should ask him out!”

Bucky buried his head in his pillow. Well this was just great.

*

The following week, he came in again. Bucky had almost forgotten The Incident, a skill of burial and denial that had gotten him through many a cringe worthy incident at high school. However when the door opened on Monday, Bucky’s suppression techniques failed him.

“Hey, Bucky,” Nat whispered gleefully, as she painfully nudged his arm, “It’s that guy you liked, Mr Romance Novel.”

“I don’t like him.” Bucky mumbled as he tried to continue reading his book behind the counter, “And stop grinning like that it worries me.”

“You should go talk to him.” Nat said, her voice growing in volume as ‘Steve’ moved behind one of the book shelves.

“And why on Earth would I do that?”

“Because you like him and he likes you and that’s just how a strong relationship starts. And besides, when did you last go on a date?”

Bucky frowned. Had it really been _that_ long? He’d dated a bit in college after figuring out in high school that his sudden interest in guys wasn’t just a result of hormones and boredom.  But no. He’d not seen anyone since Brock moved to Africa on some sudden charitable whim, breaking his heart in the process. Maybe it _was_ time to move on.

“Have you seen the guy Nat? He’s so far out of my league he probably can’t even see me from where he’s standing.”

“What does that even mean?” she retorted. Bucky glared at her. She glared back. It was intimidating. “Go and shelve these books,” she said, thrusting some biographies into his arms, “Go on.” Nat insisted, giving him a little shove.

Bucky glared back at her before proceeding to enter the non-fiction section, moving as quietly as he could so as not to attract Steve’s attention.

Bucky tucked a strand of hair behind his ears. When did he last have a haircut? _I guess I was too busy moping,_ Bucky thought as he angrily placed books in colour order. Despite his mood, it was still incredibly pleasing to accomplish.

“It’s good to see your superhuman abilities in practice.”

“Shit.” Bucky muttered. He took a deep breath and turned around. “You need to stop creeping up on me.”

“Sorry,” Steve laughed, hands up in mock surrender, “But I just wanted to say hello.”

Bucky blinked away the shock that this man was actually addressing him with his kind, almost _polite_ , words. “That’s ok. It’s good to see you still in town. I figured you’d leave after the Winter Festival finished.”

“No, no. I live here, moved to town a few weeks back-great place.”

“Why on earth would you move to a place like this?” asked Bucky. He was genuinely shocked. He’d always associated this place with cold and misery. People were either born here and got stuck, or were dragged back by guilt like him. No one came here through honest choice.

Steve laughed again. “It’s not that bad! The people are great and I’ve got a good job working in the bakery up the road. It was work that brought me here really. When my firm suggested branching out further North, I jumped at the opportunity”

 _Well that would explain the cinnamon._ “Huh,” said Bucky, “That’s nice.” _That’s nice?_ Bucky’s self conscious laughed at his feeble conversational attempts. He tried again.

“So, are you buying more books?”

“No I just came here to irritate you.” Steve smiled honestly before breaking into a grin at Bucky’s horrified expression. “Just kidding! I came to grab a book for my niece.”  He said, thrusting a gaudily decorated children’s book into the air as proof.

“Why don’t you just order it online?” Bucky blurted out. “It’s snowing. Why would you leave your house?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve grinned as he started to turn towards the tills. “Besides, customer service here beats Amazon any day.” He laughed cheerfully, before purchasing his book form an obviously delighted Nat and once again disappearing into the snow.

“Told you he liked you!” shouted Nat across the store. Bucky just stood there, once again shell-shocked by something (or more accurately someone) completely beyond his control.

*

Before a third untimely visit was sprung upon him at the bookstore, Bucky was determined to be prepared. The next day he took the boldest step he’d taken since leaving home for college- he cut his hair, and he loved it.

Gone were the heavy lank, lengths of his past. That hair was a reminder of what, and who, he couldn’t quite let go of. With enough length to still run his fingers through it, Bucky felt (without, of course, being over dramatic) like a new man.

He emerged from the salon with a barely concealed grin spreading across his face as he headed towards Steve’s bakery. He would be in control this time. No more cowering behind bookshelves. No more cringing into a pillow at night.

He momentarily paused outside the bakery window, not in the moping way he’d lingered outside of the bookstore on his first day in town- instead he was excited. He was going to ask him out. He wanted to savour this. He could see Steve through the window, kneading a floured ball of dough, muscular arms working to create something new. Bucky’s eyes widened as Steve pushed his sleeves a few inches further up his toned arms. His view was slightly obscured by another baker, but it was enough for Bucky to feel the beginnings of jitters in his stomach.

He almost heard Nat’s snappy voce in his ear. _Go get him Bucky._

“Hey, Bucky? Is that you?”

Bucky tore his eyes away from the shop window to respond to the all too familiar voice behind him.

“Brock?” Bucky managed. He struggled to get his features under control as the momentary waves of shock threatened to reveal his panicked inner monologue. _Not now. I was so close. Not now._ “Wow, I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Yeah, I just arrived back today. I almost didn’t recognise you, what with the...” he gestured towards Bucky’s face, “new haircut.”

Brock was more tanned than he remembered which only emphasised his stern, dark glare.

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair self consciously. “Do you like it?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound light, not like his carefully built recovery was promptly crashing down around him.

“Not really, no.” He said, as if stating the obvious, “You know how I liked it long.” Bucky felt his stomach sink as Brock continued, seemingly unaware of the cruelty spouting from his mouth. Unaware or simply uncaring, he continued. “Why don’t we get a drink? Catch up?”

 _No. Say no._ “Yeah,” said Bucky, his tongue seemingly making its own choices, “I’d like that.”

Bucky followed a few steps behind Brock and for a moment it felt as if he’d never left for Africa. Yet the jittery warmth from standing outside the bakery was gone. In its place grew only dread. How long had Brock been stood there, watching him? Had he been watching him watch Steve? Bucky wanted to run. To avoid confrontation at all costs. He’d always avoided angering Brock when they were together. He longed to turn back but he found that his legs only knew how to follow.

They found a table inside a cafe a few shops away from the booksellers. Bucky often came in here alone to read. It was quiet and warm, with comfy chairs and friendly staff that Bucky new by name. It was unnatural seeing Brock sitting across from him now- a ghost from a buried past.

Naturally it was Brock that broke the silence. “I learnt things in Africa,” he said, dark eyes watching every flicker on Bucky’s face, “those kids out there, Buck, with their innocent faces and gaping eyes, and the joy, when I could be the one to say ‘here take a drink’.” He leant forward onto the table. Bucky fought the urge to move back. “It changed me.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He took a sip of his latte. Brock sighed, as if irritated.

“What I’m trying to say, is I missed you. I _miss_ you.” An expectant pause, Bucky stayed silent. “I learnt about not taking what I have for granted.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up. He couldn’t stay silent any more. “You don’t have me Brock. I’m sorry.” Bucky didn’t know what he was apologising for. He sounded small and pathetic to his own ears, but it just seemed safer.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Bucky wished he could retract them. He could almost see the cool anger sealing over Brocks features as he leant back in his chair.

“So that’s the thanks I get.” Brock said slowly, eyes burning into Bucky’s scull. “After everything I’ve done for you- for _you_ , Bucky.” He wasn’t pleading anymore as his voice started to rise.“So you suddenly think, what, that you’re too good for me?”

“No it’s not that,” Bucky mumbled, eyes frantically darting from Brock’s face to the curious eyes of the other customers. “Brock please calm down, people are staring.”

“Let them!” Brock was shouting now as he stood up suddenly, his chair screeching against the floor. Bucky stood as well, quietly. He wished Brock would calm down.

So he asked him again. “Please, Brock, calm down!”

“Why the sudden change of heart Bucky? Hmm? Found someone better? How about that guy you were lusting after in the bakery, the blonde.” His words were cruel now, menacing. Bucky wiped his cheek where he’d felt some of Brock’s spit land.

“You know he’s too good for you, you little slut. You’re a nobody. Don’t assume that just because you’ve got a hair cut that suddenly every guy twice as hot as you is gonna start falling at your feet.”

Bucky felt tears start to prick at his eyes. He fought them back. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Bucky took a step towards Brock, whose hands were now clenched in rage. He looked Brock directly in the eyes. “You’re nothing to me.”

 _Slap._ Bucky heard the collective gasp of the other customers before he felt the red hot pain spreading across his cheek where Brock’s palm had come into contact with his face. He couldn’t stop the tears from falling now- partly from shock, partly from shame. He backed away from Brock, suddenly fearful.

“Jesus Bucky I’m sorry.” Brock whispered, suddenly calm after the release of his anger. “You know how I get sometimes.”

But Bucky was already backing out the door, hand clasped to his burning cheek. “Stay away from me.” He managed to gasp; hand outstretched as if this could prevent Brock form approaching as he half ran half walked out of the cafe and down the street into the snow.

“I still love you Bucky!” Brock yelled, but Bucky didn’t hear him as he ran. He didn’t stop until he’d crashed into his apartment. He lay face down on his bed and cried. He cried until his eyes felt dry and his stomach heaved. He cried until he fell asleep.

*

Bucky awoke the next morning with a strange sort of emotional hangover as he pulled himself into the kitchen to brew some coffee. He’d pretended to be asleep when Sam came home that night, with the duvet pulled over his head in an attempt to block out the world.

“Hey Bucky. You look like crap.” Sam’s uplifting voice penetrated his cranky thought process.

“Thanks,” muttered Bucky, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “you know just how to make a guy feel better.”

“I’m serious Buck, what happened yesterday?” Sam pulled a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge, with the enthusiasm of one of those annoying people who manage to have already run around the block whilst most of the world still slept.

“Nothing. Nothing happened.”

“You know, if you ever wanna talk, I’m here. I’m a qualified counsellor.” It sounded like a joke but the subtle hint of sincerity made Bucky want to cry again.

“Great. Just what I need is you to psychoanalyse me.” Sam shot him a raised eyebrow as a response.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary,” he said, draining the last of his coffee. “I need to get to work.” Bucky said, pulling himself off the sofa and towards the shower.

“Just don’t use up all the hot water!” shouted Sam from the hall.

Bucky shut the bathroom door and rested his head against it. What was he going to do? If he saw Brock again it would just be so easy to fall back into his arms. Back to the only place he’d ever really been happy. _Happiness._ Is that what it was?

Bucky stepped under the shower, hot beads of water biting his skin. He turned up the heat until he felt it begin to burn, eyes closed against the stream, he felt tears slip once again through his closed lids and mingle with the water.

He knew it was going to be a long day when he entered the bookstore and Nat wasn’t yelling at him for being late.

“Sorry Nat,” he said putting his bag down on the counter, “slept in.” Why did it always seem that he was apologising to everyone?

“Forgiven. It’s not been busy. Besides the snow seems to be driving away most of the customers.” A pause, Nat looked up and for a moment Bucky thought she was about to say something about his downcast appearance. “Nice hair.” Bucky breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah.” He sat down in one of the armchairs opposite the counter and pulled a copy of Lord of the Rings of a nearby shelf. He needed the escapism.

“I heard Brock was back in town.” Bucky’s eyes snapped up.

“Heard?”

“Yeah, something about an incident in the cafe down the road.” She almost looked apologetic for bringing it up when she saw Bucky’s mostly fake smile start to fade.

“If you’re gonna suggest that we ‘talk’ about it, spare it. Sam’s already tried,” Bucky snapped. He didn’t mean to be harsh but he was fed up with this town and everyone knowing his business.

“Sure,” she said pulling out her hip flask and looking like she may take a swig from it, before throwing it in Bucky’s direction-he caught it (just).

“Nat, why are you giving me this?”

“You look like you need it- and it’s a loan, not a gift- so don’t lose it.” She picked up her bag and pulled on her black coat and gloves.

“Where are you going?”

“Out. _I_ have a date. It looks like it’s going to be a slow day, so you probably won’t have to do much talking,” she threw the shop keys at him.

“Hey stop throwing things at me!” he said barely catching the keys, “And a date with who?”

“Her name’s Sharon and she could probably kill you with one hand. In heels.” She deadpanned. Bucky just nodded, and vaguely thought that she probably wasn’t joking. At least somebody was happy.

“Don’t forget to lock up!” she yelled as she left the shop.

“Yeah, have fun.” Bucky muttered. She probably didn’t hear him. He mutters too much.

Bucky sighed. He’d mentally prepared himself for a day of communication with Nat, so her sudden absence should’ve felt like a burden lifted. Instead he just felt lonely. He concentrated instead on his book, determined not to cry too much today. If Frodo could get to Mordor and back in one piece then he could get through a day of minimal work without tearing up. Besides Brock didn’t know where he worked and he’d hopefully left by now. In such a small town, no one wanted to be on the receiving end of rumours that circle at such terrifying speeds.

Bucky took a swig of the hip flask. He grimaced, and then felt a little better. He owed Nat.

*

It was an hour before closing, and Bucky had only had one customer all day. The sound of the door opening startled him to the extent that he dropped his book. Frodo and crew had just arrived at Lothlórien and Bucky was almost beginning to feel better. The fact that he was slightly drunk also helped.

Of course his helpful brain immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was Brock as he heard heavy footsteps plodding around the shop. But once he’d taken his place safely behind the till, the good looking and oddly bowlegged man emerged from the shelves and purchased a copy of Slaughterhouse Five, before promptly leaving.

Unfortunately Bucky now felt completely unsettled, his mind pulled from the carefully assembled world of Middle Earth. He sat back in the armchair and tried to close his eyes, but all he saw was Brock. So his eyes remained firmly open.

Closing time was in an hour. He could just shut up shop now.

But the idea of returning to an empty apartment, probably just to get completely drunk before Sam came home wasn’t a completely fulfilling plan. Besides heavy snow was forecast for later that month so the shop may need to be shut completely then- they should stay open whilst they still can.

So for the shop he stayed.

Finally the old fashioned clock on the wall ticked its way to 6pm. He’d survived- and was now probably going to return to the apartment and drink anyway, despite Sam’s inevitable disapproval. At this point he was almost looking forward to it.

So he understandably felt more than mildly irritated when he heard someone enter the shop just as he was about to return Lord of the Rings to the shelf and leave.

“We’re closed.” Bucky shouted without looking up. He’d had enough of people.

Bucky looked up long enough to reassure himself that it wasn’t Brock, before returning his gaze promptly back to the door when he saw a flash of short blonde hair. “Oh, sorry! I’ll just...”

“Steve! You can come in quickly if you want. It’s ok.” Bucky tried not to look as startled as he felt as he peered around the bookshelf that sheltered his favoured armchair.

Steve came towards him as Bucky mostly just tried to remember how to breathe. He was wearing a simple leather jacket and t-shirt, despite the cold, and Bucky suddenly felt like he wished he’d drunk more from Nat’s hip flask.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, but a pal at the bakery just told me you were attacked at the cafe down the road yesterday, and I don’t mean to be nosy, but I was sort of, well, worried for your well being I guess and-”

“Steve I’m fine.” Bucky interrupted. He didn’t feel fine, but that was mostly because of how close Steve seemed to be standing and how suddenly pink his lips looked after being out in the cold. Bucky tried not to look at them. He failed.

“Well that’s good. I hope that the bastard who-”

“Steve I don’t really want to talk about it. Nothing personal, just I’d rather just try and forget about it you know?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine Bucky.” Steve smiled. Bucky tried his best to smile back. Neither of them spoke for a beat too long and normally Bucky would be the one to force conversation but his current mood tended to favour the ‘what the heck’ attitude, so he stayed quiet.

It was Steve who broke first. “Lord of the Rings huh?” he said awkwardly gesturing behind Bucky towards the copy he’d left on the chair. Steve was now painfully close to him, focusing solely on him with what Bucky abruptly realised were staggering blue eyes.

It was at this point that Bucky gave up. He surged forward and kissed Steve with such force that he ended up pushing him against the book shelf. Steve seemed momentarily static with shock before melting a little under the other man, and then moving to deepen the kiss.

After no more than a minute, Bucky panicked, suddenly feeling a lot more sober. He stepped backwards so abruptly that he stumbled a little as he felt a red blush creeping up his neck. “God I’m sorry Steve,” he said running his fingers through his hair, “I don’t know what I was thinking, I mean a guy like you, you probably don’t even like gu-”

He was promptly cut off by Steve moving forward to bring their lips back together, switching them around in the process so it was Bucky against the book shelf now. Bucky threaded one hand through Steve’s hair, drawing him closer. The kiss deepened as Steve managed to slip his tongue into Bucky’s eager mouth. Bucky failed to suppress a small moan as Steve hooked his arm behind Bucky, fitting them together. 

After a few remarkably intense minutes they both separated, panting heatedly into each other’s mouths.

“For the record,” said Steve as he straightened his jacket, “Guys like me do like guys.”

Bucky laughed. A small, real laugh. “So did you come here just for that or were you intending to buy a book?”

“No, I really was concerned about you. Is that surprising?”

“Well. Yes, sort of.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to laugh. “After I saw you moping outside of the bakery the other day, I figured you might have been about to ask me out.”

Bucky sunk into the armchair he’d vacated no more than ten minutes ago. How things change. “Damn it, you saw that?” _And why does everyone keep saying I mope?_

“Yup, but then I looked up and you’d gone. Next thing I heard was that some guy had attacked you in a cafe. You can’t blame me for being worried.”

“Why _would_ you be worried? You’ve met me what? Twice? We barely know each other,” Bucky hesitated, “Not that I’m complaining by the way.”

“No it’s true. It does sound a bit...forward now you put it like that.” A pause, “how about we get to know each other then?”

Bucky looked up. Those scarily attractive blue eyes smiled back at him. Whatever did he do to deserve this? “Yeah I’d like that. What do you suggest?”

“Well, as my bakery is linked to the Great America restaurant chain, I have a business card and a smile that earns me a lot of free food,” he suddenly looked worried. “You’re up for that? Food?”

“Yeah, I like food.” Bucky smiled.

“Ok then,” said Steve as he pulled his iphone out of his jacket. “Just give me your number and I’ll tell you as soon as I’ve found us...” He stopped, glancing down at Bucky who was still gazing up at him from the armchair. “Fuck it,” he muttered, “do you wanna go now?”

“I-I’d like that, yeah.” Bucky imagined his drunken evening in bed crying over Netflix vanishing and being replaced with something warm and promising. “Besides with the heavy snow forecast, we’ve got to make the most of the outdoors.”

“Good point,” smiled Steve. He liked to smile, Bucky noted, and each time he did Bucky felt his heart flutter. A small part of him mentioned that it could be a heart condition. He ignored it.

*

Bucky pulled Steve by the hand into his apartment, promptly shutting the door behind him. Steve immediately pushed Bucky against the closed door, licking his way into Bucky’s mouth, who groaned in response. Steve moved a leg between Bucky’s causing the other man to grip tighter at his hair, drawing him closer.

Somehow Bucky had been pinned slightly up against the door, so used this advantage to wrap his legs around Steve’s narrow waist, kissing him deeply. Bucky let out a deep groan. This loss of control was something he craved-passion without fear. It was never so easy with Brock.

“Will your room mate be home soon?” murmured Steve into the base of Bucky’s neck.

“He’s on a training course.” Bucky whispered, “Won’t be back till Tuesday.” He felt Steve grin into the base of his neck.

“Bedroom?” Bucky gasped out as Steve began to suck on his exposed skin.

“Bucky this is your apartment.” Steve said, a smile in his voice. “Why, feeling distracted?”

“Right. Yeah.” Bucky laughed, “It’s right though there.”

They collapsed on the sheets together in a laughing bundle of limbs.

So the date went well.

_Earlier_

“I don’t normally eat at fancy restaurants,” Bucky confessed as he began to feel a little sick from the staggering menu prices, “I feel a bit under dressed.” His black skinny jeans and white t-shirt seemed to distance him from the other customers who looked like extras from the upper class deck of Titanic (before the iceberg, obviously).

Where Bucky was self-conscious and a little intimidated, Steve seemed to not notice how out of place they were, his dazzling smile and a flash of his aforementioned business card gaining them a table in less than a minute.

“Well I think you look great.” Steve smiled at him, and Bucky may have imagined it, but Steve’s eyes may have wondered downwards away from his face just then.

“People are looking,” Bucky commented, blushing a little as he glanced over his menu and across the room. Immaculately dressed couples glanced (with an air of forced politeness) over their own candlelit tables to theirs, eyes brimming with curiosity.

“Let them.”

 “I’m more of a Nandos kind of guy,” Bucky confessed, “This is all kind of intimidating.”

He looked up at Steve who smiled a little guiltily. “It’s probably too late to mention, but same. I just, I don’t know, wanted to impress you I guess.”

Bucky glanced around him at the waiters in full on waitery outfits, the chandeliers, and the menu in French. Then it hit him. “ _You_ were trying to impress _me_?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, yes. Yes it is.” Bucky gaped back at him, once again taking in his strong jaw line and blue eyes, and well, general perfection. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

“You’re not exactly repulsive yourself Buck,” was Steve’s swift, almost defensive response.

Bucky frowned. There was no way that this man, with his overly polite manors from another time and supermodel good looks was actually complementing _him_.

“I’m a nobody, Steve,” Bucky muttered, eyes fixed on the ornate table cloth in front of him. “You could do better.”

It was then that Steve reached forward to grasp Bucky’s hand that had been fiddling with the menu. Bucky’s eyes snapped up, locking with Steve’s.

“Listen to me Bucky. You’re not a nobody, and no I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

Steve continued to stare directly into his eyes until Bucky crumbled and looked away. He couldn’t take it.

“Look at this place, Steve. I don’t belong here, not in your perfect world.” He could feel tear prickling in his eyes again. Since when did he cry so much?

Steve’s forehead pinched in a frown for a moment, before breaking out into a smile. “Then let’s get out of here then.” Bucky looked back up.

“What?”

“Come on!”

Bucky suddenly found himself pulled up out of his chair. Steve held onto Bucky’s hand and laughed at his surprised expression. If people weren’t staring before, they definitely were now. They were almost running now out to the car park where a young valet had awkwardly manoeuvred Bucky’s motorbike. Steve climbed on the back with ease, leaving room for Bucky to slide in front of him.

“Where to?” asked Bucky as he handed Steve his helmet, before slipping on his own.

“Anywhere you want.” Bucky smiled a little at this response.

Without another word Bucky pulled out of the driveway and down into the road. As Bucky sped up, the ever constant flakes of snow seemed to sting at Steve’s exposed neck, leading to him tucking his body closer to Bucky’s for shelter. Neither of them complained.

Eventually they arrived at what Steve thought looked from the outside like a stereotypical ski lodge, but Bucky assured him that it was in fact a cafe.

As they wondered inside, Bucky slipped an arm around Steve’s waist to guide him into a sheltered corner of the room. Steve glanced around him and tried to absorb the warm open fire and sheep skin rugs that seemed to add a further element of warmth. Bucky ordered them both a hot chocolate, which they both clung to until they felt feeling return to their icy hands.

“This is where I used to hide out when I was in high school.” Bucky began. Steve realised this was probably the first time he’d revealed something about himself completely unprompted. “When things were bad at home I’d sit in here, by the fire,” Bucky gazed at it now, “and read. It felt more like a home sometimes than my real one.”

“Was it bad a lot at home?” Steve prompted.

“Not so much bad I guess, more just miserable.” He hesitated before continuing.  “My brothers had all moved out by the time I was in high school, three of them forming a carpentry business a few towns west of here, the other setting up his own logging company down south. None of them wanted to stay to hear our dad yell at us all day. So no one was exactly pleased when I announced I wanted to do literature at college.”

He let out a small laugh. “I remember when I showed my dad my acceptance letter. Without looking up he just shoved it back at me from his armchair and said ‘isn’t literature for queers.’”

“Bucky that’s horrible.”

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” he said, “No one wants a sob story on the first date.”

“Really, it’s fine. Go on.” Bucky really looked at Steve then, who spoke like he meant it. So he carried on.

“I left for college the next day, haven’t seen my dad, or my brothers, since. It’s been three years. I came back here hoping to make the trip at some point; it’s only a few miles north of here, the house. I just haven’t.”

“What about your mom?” Steve asked, although he was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Bucky smiled, a small sad smile of a man who’d been answering such a question for too many years. “She died when I was three. Car accident.”

“Fuck,” Steve mumbled, looking genuinely upset, “I’m sorry Bucky, I didn’t mean to stir all of this shit up I mean-”

“No it’s fine. It’s good to talk I guess. Not much of a fun date though, am I?” he glanced up at Steve, humour returning to his eyes. “Don’t answer that- what about your family?”

Bucky took a sip of his hot chocolate and leant back in his chair. Steve mirrored his actions. “Nothing to tell really.”

“Do they know you’re gay?”

“Sure. Brought home a guy when I was sixteen. Can’t say they weren’t a little shocked, but they got over it. I was lucky.”

They exchanged glances for a moment, both of them feeling a little more trusting of each other.

“So what made you want to be a baker?”

The conversation flowed smoothly from there, through topics that could be explored without reminiscing on pain or heartbreak. The inevitable discussion of books wound effortlessly into their shared love of movies and sci-fi. Through the window behind Steve, Bucky could see the first stars shining through a break in the clouded night sky. Maybe this was happiness.

“I like your hair, Bucky.” Bucky smiled shyly. He never did learn to accept compliments.

Bucky wasn’t really sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew, Steve’s boot was caressing his own leg under the table in a way that made conversation a little less articulate.

Neither of them was usually sex on the first date kinds of people, something they expressed to each other afterwards as they lay in his bed, exhausted. There was just something about Steve that made Bucky care a little less, want to live a little more. He hoped Steve felt the same way. Besides, with the snow only getting heavier, and the distance to Steve’s own apartment seemingly a little too far in the cold, they agreed the resulting situation was only logical.

*

Bucky expected awkwardness the next morning; swift goodbyes reeking of one night stand overtones. As he rolled over to find an empty bed, he figured he’d perhaps been saved even the goodbye-that is until the smell of freshly baked pancakes wafted its way into his room. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Bucky wandered into the kitchen, pulling on yesterday’s underwear and t shirt.

He found Steve, similarly dressed, with a stack of perfectly golden pancakes being set down on the table.

He looked up when Bucky walked in. “I hope you don’t mind.” Steve looked almost shy as he handed Bucky a plate, something that bordered on hilarity considering last night’s activities.

“No, it’s fine. Don’t apologise for cooking a miracle.” Bucky may have been exaggerating about the pancakes as he tucked in to the food, letting out an almost explicit groan at the taste (a noise that set a creeping blush across both of their faces)  but they really did smell fantastic.

“Can I keep you?” Bucky mumbled into his food as he tried to resist closing his eyes to savour the flavour.

Steve laughed as he sat down across from him. “Sure Buck, but I have to be at work in an hour.”

Their eyes locked as a mutual thought seemed to pass through both of their minds.

Bucky swallowed his last mouthful. “An hour. Huh.” He glanced up at Steve to witness a playful gleam settle around his eyes. “Shower? I know Sam loves it when we save water.”

Steve smirked. “I do love the environment.”

*

“What are you grinning about?” Nat said slyly as she watched Bucky enter the shop, “And you’re late by the way.”

“Sorry about that.” Bucky smiled at her- she raised an eyebrow.

“Since when did you smile before noon- wait, it’s that Steve guy isn’t it?”

“Maybe- how do you always know these things?”

“I’m a spy,” she deadpanned. “Besides, I saw him walk past here towards the bakery with a similarly goofy grin on his face-what ya do to him?”

“Shut up, Nat.” Bucky muttered as he grabbed some books to shelve. _Why were there always so many books that needed shelving around here?_ “We just went out, that’s all.”

He glanced back to see Nat kick her feet up onto the counter, a pleased smirk on her face. “Sure.”

Her perceptive eyes broke his fake sincerity and he burst out into a grin as he moved towards the back of the store. Steve had suggested that Bucky came over to the bakery at closing time to take him out for an actual meal, somewhere without a dress code. Bucky quickly agreed, on the one condition that he could take his motorbike. There was something about sharing such a solitary vehicle with another being that warmed Bucky’s heart a little.

In seemingly no time at all 6pm ticked around. It was almost as if Bucky was enjoying himself in his newfound not-sadness, and time was travelling quicker as a result. It almost made him want to reflect on how the happiest times were the ones that move away the fastest-almost.

Arriving outside the bakery this time felt almost funny, considering how different he’d felt standing here just a few days ago. The image of Brock appearing out of the fog of time behind him was almost enough to spoil his good mood. He pushed the thoughts away.

He stepped into the bakery to find Steve talking to a smartly dressed customer. He’d removed his apron and had replaced his work clothes with a white t-shirt and navy blue jacket. This man had no consideration for the cold winter weather- and Bucky loved it.

Steve spotted Bucky loitering in the entrance of the shop and for a moment Bucky thought he saw something out of place flash across Steve’s features, something not unlike fear. The customer noticed Steve’s change of attention and turned to see Bucky, who smiled awkwardly.

“Bucky!” Steve exclaimed cheerfully, almost overly cheerful. “Bucky, this is my dad.”

“Oh, hi there Mr Rogers?” The greeting formed as a question, such a title made Bucky feel like he was back in high school.

“Please call me Owen.”

“Owen,” Bucky confirmed as he shook the man’s hand.

“Steve’s told me about you. You’ve studied literature, at college?”

“Yes, yes I did.” He didn’t know where to put his hands after Owen released it so he just kind of let them hang. He felt awkward. It seemed more than strange to meet the father of the man that just spent the night in his bed- and his morning sharing his shower.

“My son tells me that you’re a friend of his?”

“A friend...of sorts, yes.” Bucky looked at Steve. Steve looked at the floor.

“Well I’m glad my son’s been making firm friends in this town, maybe you could help him find a girl, huh?” He laughed cheerfully, clapping Steve on the arm. Bucky smiled blankly and nodded.

“I think I’m just gonna go, leave you guys to catch up.”

“Bucky, Buck wait, you don’t have to-“

But Bucky was already out the door.

Sam knew something was wrong when he heard the front door of their apartment slam with a little bit too much force. As Bucky entered, he made a beeline for the liquor cabinet. He didn’t need to be a trained mental health professional to know something was up.

“Bucky?” Sam called from the sofa as he watched Bucky pull a particularly expensive bottle out and started pouring himself a glass, before giving up and just taking the bottle.  “I don’t mean to judge but, maybe the answer doesn’t lie at the bottom of a bottle?”

Bucky ignored him. He tried again. “Nat told me you’d be out with Steve tonight- I’m guessing that’s... not happening?”

“Leave me alone,” Bucky muttered as he made his way into his room. So the Netflix and drinking night was only postponed after all.

One night stretched into the whole of the next day, which Nat granted him off, feigning a stomach bug, although knowing Nat, she probably knew exactly what was wrong.

After using this day to get over his hangover, Bucky felt he couldn’t mope around for another, so pulled himself into the shower, which only reminded him of what he wanted to forget.

Nat gave him a scornful look as he entered the shop. He knew he probably looked like crap but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it,” Nat tried, obviously testing if Bucky was going to bite or simply burst into tears. He did neither.

“It’s ok,” he replied, suddenly exhausted as he sat down in an armchair facing the till.

“Hey, Bucky, I don’t know if you’ve heard...” she started. Bucky raised an eyebrow as if to express the sentiment that he was too busy moping to keep up with local gossip. She carried on regardless. “Apparently Brock’s skipped town, headed to England on some whim-thought you’d be pleased.”

Despite everything, Bucky _was_ pleased. The shadow of his past was finally lifted. But what about the present? The darkness Brock brought with him was only held back by Steve’s unexpected light-a light that Bucky was only just realising was probably a ploy to get him into bed whilst he was still vulnerable. Since when had he been so blind?

“You should talk to him you know,” Nat suggested. Sometimes Bucky felt that she must have owned a bar in a past life, discussing customer’s woes as she wiped down the bar with an old cloth. She simply sat still behind the counter now. “He probably has his reasons.”

“He didn’t have to lie to me Nat. I thought I could trust him. Who knew I was so easy.”

“You’re a lot of things Bucky, but you’re not easy.”

“Yeah, right,” he muttered as he ran his fingers through his hair. A little piece of his miserable resolve snapped. “You know what,” he declared as he stood up suddenly, “I am going to talk to him, I’m going to go over there and tell him just what I think about his cowardly lies. I’m not going to mope anymore.”

“Bucky...”

But Bucky was already half way out the door. He marched angrily to the bakery, pausing outside for just a moment, and for what he hoped was the final time. He was done with watching through a shop window. Steve looked up as Bucky entered the shop, and immediately moved around his work station to meet him.

As soon as Bucky’s eyes landed on Steve, all his anger seemed to drain away. Steve looked just as bad as he did, purple bruises of exhaustion circling his blue, blue eyes. Bucky almost felt guilty. Almost.

“Buck, I tried to talk to you yesterday morning after my dad left but Sam wouldn’t let me in- I’m sorry.”

His sincerity made Bucky want to forgive him right then and there. Instead he thought of how he was vomiting over the toilet yesterday morning. He made a mental note to thank Sam later.

Eventually Bucky found his voice. He sounded surprisingly calm to his own ears. “Is that what I am to you Steve? A friend? Because if that’s the case, and it all meant nothing to you, then it’s fine, I can just-”

Steve cut him off with a kiss. His hands, warm from baking, clasped around his face. It wasn’t a kiss of desire, but an apology. As Steve pulled away, Bucky saw the tears in his eyes, and felt them mirrored in his own.

“You do mean something to me Bucky.”

Their faces were still just inches apart. “Why did you say that then?”

Steve hung his head a little, in a motion that Bucky could only understand as shame. “He doesn’t know Buck. He doesn’t know I’m gay.”

“But, you said-you said when you were sixteen-”

“I know Bucky, I know what I said. I lied. I didn’t think you’d want to, I don’t know, be with me I guess, if you knew I was such a coward.”

“Steve that’s ridiculous.”

“Is it though? Look at me.” Bucky looked. “I’m a grown man too afraid to tell my family I like guys.” He rubbed his forehead as if it was hurting him. “It’s such a fucking cliché.”

Bucky smiled then. He smiled as this beautiful man appeared before him, more vulnerable than ever before. Bucky gently caressed his cheek. “We can tell them together, if you want. Or not at all.” He whispered softly, lips just hovering above the other man’s.

“Ok. Yeah. Yeah I’d like that.” He brought his lips forward once more to meet Bucky’s, almost to secure his promise. As they pulled away, Steve focused back onto Bucky’s eyes. “See, I’m not so perfect after all.”

Bucky let out a small laugh. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to love a good cliché, so you’re still perfect to me.”

That night they both returned to Steve’s apartment and with loving, lingering touches, they healed each other.

*

“Who wants a New Year’s party at a bookstore?”

“We do.” Nat replied as she finished hanging a far from subtle Happy New Year banner. “Beside it’s our turn.”

Bucky sighed dramatically. Another one of their stupid local traditions- that each year a business in the area would host the town’s New Year’s party. Bucky normally avoided any such thing, but this time the fact that he worked here meant there was no escape. The only thing that made the promise of forced social interaction bearable was the knowledge that Steve would be here with him.

Things had improved once Steve told his parents that they were a little more than just friends. They came into the book store one day before they were about to head home. “Just a short visit,” they said, “we need to get back before we’re snowed in!”

So with Bucky by his side Steve revealed their true relationship to them, with Steve’s palm gripping tightly to Bucky’s.

Luckily, Steve’s fears had been very much misplaced. “We’d had our suspicions,” said Steve’s mother who drew him into a warm embrace that Bucky tried not to envy.

“I was so worried,” Steve mumbled, “I didn’t know what you’d think.”

Steve’s father smiled at that. “You know, it’s not the 1940s anymore son.” They all laughed at that and when they left, Steve drew Bucky into his own hug. “I’m glad you were here, Buck.” He whispered into his ear, “Thank you.”

Bucky gazed across the store now as he watched Steve lay out all the delicious food he’d prepared. “You gonna just sit there with those puppy dog eyes, or are you gonna help?” Nat yelled, as he was startled out of his thoughtful daze. He jumped down from the counter, where he’d been sat with his legs swinging. “Anything for you Nat,” he smiled sweetly. She rolled her eyes.

He moved over to where Steve was arranging the food. “Hey, Steve,” the other man glanced up and smiled. “Do you think we could go visit my dad in the New Year, maybe together?”

“Sure, Buck. That would be great.”

Bucky’s face broke out into a grin. “Now you’re not gonna be disappearing on me before midnight, are you?”

“Course not Buck,” he drew him into a kiss. As he pulled away, his face suddenly seemed solemn, “I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing a happy ending for these guys. If you also happen to like Star Trek, maybe follow me on tumblr at luthienthetolkienite.tumblr.com  
> Comments and kudos appreciated (really)


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